


An Intrigue of Torture

by AJGhostWolf



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Blood, Cutting, Drugs, Gen, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt Blake, Hurt David Rossi, Hurt Derek Morgan, Hurt Garcia, Hurt JJ, Hurt Prentiss, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt Walker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Investigation, Kidnapping, Team Bonding, Team Dynamic, Team Hurt, Team Kidnapped, Torture, Vomit, Waterboarding, bad language, bau, unsubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25325788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJGhostWolf/pseuds/AJGhostWolf
Summary: Agent Rossi's been kidnapped. His kidnappers are anything but friendly people. And Rossi quickly learns that they aren't messing around, either. They want something from him, and they're God-damn sure they're going to get it, one way or another.(Rated Teen+ for language, violence, and gore)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

Rossi blinked his way into consciousness, vaguely wondering why he had to do so and why he felt a deep sense of foreboding fear in his chest. 

And then he tried to move. 

Pain, sheer and utter  _ agony _ exploded all over his body. 

Sucking a deep and shuddering breath through his teeth, he gently rocked back and forth in minuscule movements, desperately willing it to fade even a little bit. It felt like his head might explode, he didn’t understand how anyone could still be alive and experience such pain. 

It took entirely too long, but eventually the burning seemed to slightly subside and he could actually focus senses on something outside of his own body. 

And he heard the sounds of another person breathing. 

He managed to crack open an eye and roll it in the direction he thought they might be, and there was indeed a masked person sitting backwards in a ladder-back chair, arms crossed along the top and just . . . . watching. 

Rossi opened his mouth to ask a question, but as soon as he breathed in, he fell into a massive, body-racking coughing fit. Red bloomed in the back of his eyes and he felt his body stuttering painfully with every rough cough. 

There was suddenly something against his lips, and cool liquid rushed into his mouth. 

For a moment he accepted it gladly, but when it didn’t stop coming he closed his mouth and forced his head roughly to the side, muscles screeching the whole way and frigid water hitting his chest. 

There was a noise of disgust and the cup was withdrawn. 

Rossi panted, looked back, noticed that the person who had given him water was not the one currently still sitting in the chair, and finally was able to clear his throat. He quavered, “Where am I? Who are you?” 

The first man almost seemed to smile. He gestured to his companion, who belted Rossi across the mouth with an open palm that slewed him sideways in his chair. 

Chair must be bolted down, Rossi realized hazily as he tried to right himself. The metal arm he was tied to was digging unpleasantly into his ribs. 

“I ask the questions here,” the first man said, almost pleasantly. 

The second man grabbed Rossi by the hair and roughly drug him back into place, continuing to hold onto his scalp as he shifted to stand behind him, his grip keeping Rossi solidly against the back of the chair. 

The first man stood, and Rossi was struck by the sheer  _ power  _ the man emanated. He was big, both physically and projectionally. 

“So, since you seem to be in a decent mindset right now, what’s your name?” 

Rossi stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before uncontrollably scoffing. Seemed his inhibitions had not survived whatever had been done to get him here. Figured. 

The second man, Enforcer, slammed the back of his head into the biting metal of the chair and closed a big hand around his throat. And slowly started tightening. 

For a moment it wasn’t panic-inducing, but that quickly changed when he could no longer pull air in. Rossi tried to stay calm but felt, rather than dictated, his body thrashing against Enforcer and the restraints. He had already started to feel blood drawn from the zip-ties on his wrists when Enforcer finally released his neck and allowed him to slump forward, right hand still maintaining the grip on Rossi’s hair as he choked air back in and out of his body. 

“I assure you I’m quite serious,” man one, Leader, said softly. 

Enforcer yanked Rossi back upright to face Leader, left hand bunching in his t-shirt to aid in keeping him upright. 

“So, what’s your name?” 

Rossi didn’t respond, just stared balefully at him and tried to even out shuddering breaths. 

Leader stared at him with evident disappointment, then nodded at Enforcer, who promptly released Rossi’s shirt to sock him in the jaw, the other hand still holding him in place. 

Rossi couldn’t prevent a yelp at the feeling of teeth going through his cheek. He was surprised to feel Enforcer release him like he’d been stung, cussing and yelling and stomping around behind him. 

“Motherfucker’s teeth sliced my hand open!” he explained to an incredulous Leader. 

Rossi felt sick at hearing that, and after gagging barely restrained himself from throwing up. Blood was running freely down his face and pooling in his mouth, and he had the clarity to lean slightly over and spit some out. It made a disgusting noise hitting the floor, and he again had to physically stop himself from puking. 

Leader sighed deeply and shook his head. “Go get cleaned up. Send someone else in.” He quirked an eyebrow as he observed the deep slice between Enforcer’s ring and middle fingers, almost artery-deep. “Actually, send someone in and go to the hospital. Tell ‘em it was a power tool accident. They get that shit all the time.” 

“Yes sir.” Enforcer gave Rossi one last dirty look before slipping out of a door behind Leader. 

Scant moments passed before another bruiser was sent in. Enforcer 2.0, Rossi dubbed him. 

And Enforcer 2.0 promptly clubbed him in the chest with both hands, causing his heart to stutter painfully and him to momentarily black out. He was almost vomiting when he came to not even seconds later, definitely choking and curling unintentionally inward, self-diagnosing a definitely bruised sternum, if not cracked. 

“Your name,” Leader asked, seemingly nonplussed. 

“Eleanor Rigby,” Rossi gasped, a wicked little smile on his otherwise pained features. That was wiped away by another hard slap, that rang disgustingly sharply on his bloodied skin. 

Leader shook his head calmly. “Try again.” 

“Fumperdink.” He couldn’t grasp the energy to grin like he wanted, but his eyes were shining as they met Leader’s much calmer ones. 

Enforcer 2.0 was about to club him again when Leader held a hand up. “This obviously isn’t being very effective.” 

Enforcer 2.0 smiled wickedly and pulled a knife from his pocket, thumbing it open with one hand and seizing Rossi by the hair with the other. 

Rossi jerked and tried to wrench himself free, only succeeding in further slicing into his wrists on the zip-ties and panicking himself. Enforcer 2.0 laid the blade on his neck, just between his clavicle and trapezius muscle. Rossi choked on his breath and stilled, a chill running up his back as he looked at Leader. 

“Name.” 

Rossi licked suddenly dry lips with the tip of his tongue, calculating. “Formia Erasmus.” 

He saw Leader chuckle and shake his head, and then he felt metal bite deep into his shoulder, blood immediately spilling, and then he knew no more. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know me and my sadistic, uncommon tastes pretty well by now, so I bet this pro'lly isn't very surprising to you. Hope you enjoy it, nonetheless, and leave your thoughts! Praise fuels me a shameful amount, I'll admit.

He came to at a sharp, buzzing sting in his left shoulder, feeling unpleasantly deep. He groggily forced himself to look over, slowly realizing that a bandage was being unwrapped from his shoulder by a muttering man. 

He must have tensed and drawn a sharp, obvious breath, because the man stopped muttering and stilled in his process. 

“Keep going,” someone with a thick accent growled. 

Armenian? Iraqi? Libyan? Turkish? Rossi couldn’t tell. 

“But he’s conscious!” the man unwrapping his shoulder protested. “It’ll hurt like hell!” 

Enforcer One leered, holding up his freshly bandaged hand. “He did this to me, so do you think I care if  _ ‘it hurts?’ _ I hope it does.” He actually bared his teeth at the man. “You know your job, so do it.” 

The man, whom Rossi was guessing to be some kind of a doctor, sighed and wearily continued unwrapping. There was a new small table next to Rossi, that held a booklet of medical supplies, including stitching material. 

“Sorry, none of this is gonna feel good from here on out,” the doctor said, peeling the final bandage that had stuck to the wound. 

Rossi’s breath caught in his throat as he stiffened and tried to silently ride through the pain, only just noticing the dull spreading through the rest of his body. Goddamn, what had they done to get him in here? Run him over? 

The doctor disposed of the soiled bandages and squirted water and some chemicals into the wound, which Rossi was avoiding looking at for fear he’d lose it. The wound bubbled and Rossi started chewing on his undamaged cheek, trying very hard not to twist away from the only help he was likely to receive. 

Doc washed the cut out several more times, shoved gauze and a tube inside, and started threading a needle. 

“Waitaminute,” Rossi said breathlessly, eyes wide as he twisted to regard the wound and the doctor. “You’re just gonna leave that?” 

The man looked so very tired and apologetic, but nodded. He had opened his mouth to explain when Enforcer One suddenly seized Rossi’s jaw, flicking his gaze to Doc to silently warn him against replying. When his look returned to Rossi, it was full of fury. 

“You do  _ not _ speak, you do not question. Next time, I start taking teeth.” 

Rossi swallowed and silently nodded, feeling immeasurable relief when Enforcer One released him and stalked back to his wall. He knew that he’d meant it, and one hundred percent would enjoy doing it, too. 

The doctor just silently began to stitch the wound. 

It didn’t hurt as bad as Rossi would have expected, but it was still unmedicated and incredibly unpleasant. Twenty-seven stitches later, it finally ended and Rossi could breathe better. 

Doc turned his weary eyes on Enforcer One, not really even acknowledging Rossi’s continued existence, and hollowly said, “Please try not to bust those open, they’ll be harder to do a second time and he could bleed to death anyway. As it is, I don’t think infection can be avoided, but it has to be guarded against.” 

Enforcer One looked impatient and uncaring, and just snapped, “Yes, whatever.” He opened the door and gestured for Enforcer 2.0 to take Doc away. He sneered in parting, “Enjoy your evening, doctor.” 

* * * * *

It was several hours before Leader joined them again, hours occupied by Rossi trying not to look at Enforcer One and him glaring unblinking at Rossi. 

Leader carried his chair several feet away in front of Rossi and sat, legs crossed, exuding pleasure and confidence. 

Rossi decided he hated Leader more than all of his minions combined. 

“Your name?” Leader asked nicely. He had a faint Australian lilt to his voice, Rossi noted. 

Rossi glanced at Enforcer One, who remained leaned against the wall, and then back at Leader, who was smiling like a fat cat. “Don Keydick.” 

Leader sighed deeply and shook his head, and Enforcer One was at Rossi’s side in moments, pulling something from his belt and holding in under Rossi’s jaw. There was a clicking noise and Rossi’s world imploded. He was aware after a while that he was yelping, and that his tongue was burning from being tense, which he wasn’t aware was possible. His yelping had progressed to almost yelling before Enforcer One finally let off, letting Rossi slump and unintentionally drool all over one leg. 

“Your name?” 

When he finally gathered his wits, Rossi spat bloody spittle and looked up at Leader, tingling face breaking into a savage grin as he wheezed, “Hugh Jass.” 

This time Enforcer One shoved the taser into the base of Rossi’s skull. It was like everything went black for a moment. After the black, Rossi felt his entire body seizing up against the electricity, and he wasn’t aware of a heartbeat for a worrying moment. When it stopped, he could hear the blood roaring in his ears, albeit irregular and shaky, and fell forward in relief. 

Enforcer One just grabbed him by the bad shoulder and yanked him back up, again wrapping his fist into Rossi’s t-shirt to uncomfortably hold him there. 

Leader sighed and sprawled out slightly, obviously tired of the whole process but willing to continue. He said rather softly for the circumstances, “You know it’s not a hard question. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t have any consequences, won’t harm anyone. Just tell me your fuckin’ name, mate, and we won’t have to do this anymore.” 

Rossi just glared hollowly. 

Enforcer One leaned over to grin evilly at him before shoving the taser against the slice in his cheek and triggered it. 

It felt like his skull caught on fire, and Rossi was well-aware of screaming through the pain, hands clenched into fists so hard he drew blood from his palms. His left leg was painfully numb but also twitching madly, and his heart went through several concerning stops before Enforcer One finally let off, and at Leader’s command. He would have left it on for a hell of a lot longer were it up to him. 

Rossi gulped and shook and periodically convulsed from remnants of electric shock, staring unseeing at his knee a few inches from his face and trying not to cry from pain and frustration. It was surprisingly very difficult. 

“--ur name?” 

He realised he had only caught part of that, which was concerning, but he didn’t want to bother thinking of that. He just panted and tried to think of something, but nothing quippy was coming. He mumbled something incoherent, and Enforcer One grabbed him by the jaw and yanked him upward to face Leader. Rossi could only imagine just how much of a sight he was at the moment. 

“What?” Leader leaned forward, betraying some excitement. 

Rossi gave the barest smile before muttering, “M’ name’s Fuck You.” 

Even as Enforcer One marched around to the front of the chair and angrily shoved the taser ‘down there,’ Rossi grinned unregretfully. 

But when Enforcer One lit the taser up, that disappeared real quick-like. White hot agony filled him, to the point where he couldn’t even scream. He just stayed stiff and felt his head wrench to the left unintentionally for some reason, skating the thinnest edge of unconsciousness he ever had. 

After what seemed too long, he managed to move his foot and touch it to Enforcer One’s crouched figure, shocking him in return. 

Enforcer One yelped and jumped back, furious. 

Rossi had slumped weakly in his chair and was barely aware that Enforcer One had ripped the zip-ties from his hands and started securing to the back of the metal chair, doing the same for his feet, which he also noticed were bare. When Enforcer One had finished, he smirked down at Rossi and put the taser in a pocket, withdrawing a collapsible police baton from another. 

Rossi felt any triumph in him flee immediately, and knew Enforcer One saw it, too, because he grinned wildly and struck him solidly across the low ribs with the baton. 

Rossi tried to keep his reaction minimal, but whimpered when it fell. The second was so fast it caught him off guard and he barked a curse, for which Enforcer One belted him across the mouth, left to right. In Rossi’s case, right to left. 

“I. Told. You. Not. To. Speak,” Enforcer One hissed as he hit Rossi rapid-fire, punctuating each word with a hard strike, chest, chest, face, leg, chest, knee. 

Rossi was crying when he finally stopped, unbidden tears mixing with blood and saliva. He was open-mouth screaming for a while, but the hit to his jaw audibly cracked something and he snapped his mouth shut very fast. After that, he was mostly just moaning with his jaw clenched, silently praying for it to end. 

When Enforcer One finally ran out of steam, he took silent stock of his victim. 

Badly bruised, obviously, some definitely cracked ribs on both sides, one knee all fucked up, either dislocated or shattered, and probably a cracked tooth somewhere in there based on his victim’s reaction. His shoulders were likely bruised to the bone, but Enforcer One had purposefully avoided the stitched-up cut inflicted by his coworker. He had only stopped because he recognized that Rossi was moments from blacking out, and he didn’t intend to let him get away that easily or that soon. 

He grabbed Rossi’s head, forcing him to look up, snarling “What’s your fucking name?” 

Rossi shifted, hissed in pain as everything in his body screamed  _ Broken! Broken! _

He mumbled something, labored a sharp breath in, and mush-mouthed, “Shjj-- ‘s, ungh, R’sz--Rossi.” 

Enforcer One smiled widely. He ruffled Rossi’s hair patronizingly. “See, that  _ was not _ hard.” He shoved himself to a stand, using Dave’s messed up knee as leverage, and listened to him hiss in pain with minimal interest. 

Leader was smiling widely. “Well done, Davey, that only took you two days. That’s a little stupid, you have to admit.” 

When that thought soaked into his brain, he had to swish it around for a second to figure out what it meant. When he figured it out a painful amount later, he glared with stunning hatred at Leader, who laughed. 

“Oh yes, David, we already knew your name. I just wanted to see how much it would take for you to give up something so simple. So pointless. Two days, Dave. Two. Fucking. Days. That’s really sad, don’tcha think? Two days of holding out something we  _ already knew,  _ getting the shit beaten out of you for absolutely no reason. Yeah, that’s pretty sad, Dave.” 

Rossi glared up at him, not even understanding half of what he’d said but knowing the meaning behind it all nonetheless. 

Leader knelt down a few feet away, sensing he hadn’t gotten his point quite across. “Look at your knee, Dave,” he said softly. “My man fucked it up pretty bad. I bet you’ll never walk on that the same, David. If you ever walk on it again at all.” 

Rossi numbly looked at said knee, feeling his guts twist sharply at the image of the obviously twisted and smashed up joint, sickeningly visible even under his jeans. 

Leader grinned at the numb expression on Rossi’s drawn and pale face. “There’s no point in fighting us, Rossi. You’ve seen what we’re willing to do, for information _we already have._ So our tactics when it comes to the more important shit--well, let’s just say this was like a pillow fight compared to what we’ll put you through if you don’t comply. Understand?” 

Rossi was still staring at his knee, seemingly unhearing, so Leader snapped, “Dave. Rossi.” Obviously pissed, he roared,  _ “Rossi!”  _

Rossi jumped, whimpered at the pain it caused, and redirected his eyes to look at Leader. 

_ “Do you understand?”  _

Rossi wearily nodded, a half-lolling movement that hurt everything, and Leader smiled. He stood, addressing Enforcer One. “Cut him loose, put him in a cell with a mattress, blankets, and some food and water. Show him the rewards of cooperating with us.” 

Just before he closed the door behind him, he added, “Oh, and have Jeffreys take a look at him. Don’t want the old fart giving out just yet. We still need him for a few days, at least. After that, I don't really give a shit.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Easing his busted body down onto what they laughably described as a mattress was so painful, but it was still better than the damn chair. 

The guards left him propped up against the wall, being surprisingly gentle. His bad knee was out in front of him, slightly bent, and his jaw was clenched pale to attempt to stave off the pain. 

The door opened and the doctor, Jeffreys, was escorted in. A new man Rossi didn’t know came in after him and stood against the door with his arms crossed, just watching. Creeper was his new name. 

Jeffreys stared at him a moment, taking stock, and gave him a shocked look. “Jesus Christ, all this for your  _ name?”  _

Rossi glanced at Creeper, then just shrugged his good shoulder. Even that hurt. 

Jeffreys crouched down and opened his little medical bag, glancing at his knee with a very concerned expression all the while. “I--I don’t know if . . . .” 

Rossi just closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cold wall, enjoying the chill against the sudden wave of heat he felt. He truly was beginning to not care about the outcome, he just wanted out. Bitterly, he reflected that were this to happen even twenty years ago he would have given them a run for their money, but now . . . . goddammit he just didn’t have it in him! 

He was brought back to reality by the feeling of a cold hand against his cheek. “Hey,” Jeffreys said urgently, twisting to look at Creeper. “He’s got a fever.” 

Rossi felt him tug at the bandages on his shoulder but couldn’t bring himself to particularly care. 

“Jesus, yeah, I think this is starting to get infected.” He again moved to address Creeper. “Look, I know you can’t--” 

Creeper shook his head and growled, “Nah fuckin’ way.” 

Southern accent, that one Rossi realised. He didn’t really remember what impact that had. 

Jeffreys sighed and turned back, eyes slowly taking in the horror and trying to digest that he was going to have to try to fix it. “Well, look, can I at least get your help getting his shirt off? I’m not that big and I’m worried about bro--” 

Creeper irritatingly waved him silent. “Yeah yeah awhright, just shuddup.” 

Rossi grunted in protest as they pulled him away from the wall and slowly pulled his thin t-shirt from him, not liking the sudden cold. 

Jeffreys had Creeper lay him down flat on his back so he could actually inspect him, and Creeper retreated to his angry stance by the door. 

Rossi cracked an eye to watch him, and let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He tried to shift slightly to alleviate pressure on a pained shoulder blade and groaned softly. “Hh--you know you c’n’t . . . . ‘scape m’ team,” he half-slurred half-wheezed. It, predictably, didn’t feel particularly great. “They’ll . . . . be lookin’. Fer whatever you wan’.” It was a struggle to keep his eyes open--God he just wanted to sleep!--but he carefully watched Creeper with more than a little trepidation for his reaction. 

Creeper surprised both of them by shrugging. “Ah don’t cayre. Ah’m here fer the paycheck.” His eyes hardened perceptively. “But ‘m not boutta cut you no breaks. You kin talk, but that’s ahll.” He nodded backward, indicating the complex behind the door. “These people ‘re scurry, man. There’s a lot of ‘em. I dunno who you managed to piss off, but you made a damn mistake in doin’ it.” 

Rossi’s solemn eyes were on him through the whole speech, but as he finished they slowly slipped closed. It was too hard to keep fighting. 

* * * * *

He was rudely shaken awake what felt like a short time later, a sandwich, apple, and a bottle of water pushed into his hands by Creeper, who Rossi henceforth decided to redub as Hopeful. A hopeful escape opportunity. 

It also occurred to him that it had been three or so days since he had eaten, and he fairly inhaled the food. The water gave him heartburn, but it was water so he couldn’t complain too much. 

Except he could. 

The fact that he was here, rationalizing, trying to think of compromises, that he’d already made one . . . . 

Hopeful dropped a pair of unlaced boots that Rossi recognized as his next to the mat, dropping his shirt on top of them after. 

“Get dressed, ‘parently we’re goin’ on a road trip.” 

“Where?” Rossi croaked, stiffly reaching for his clothes. 

Hopeful gave him a withering glare. “Ah don’t know. Or cayre. Get dressed. Now.” 

* * * * *

They yanked him to his feet when they came in, and the pain when he put weight on his knee almost drove him into oblivion. As it was, he slumped badly in their grip and was painfully dragged through several corridors before finally being able to get his other leg under him and help limp along. He couldn’t even get his right leg to respond after that, it just hurt. 

For some reason, they stopped suddenly and a bag was thrown over his head, tied uncomfortably tight around his neck, and his hands were tied together in front of him. 

And then they shoved him through a few more doors, and eventually into the back of a car. SUV, he figured. He was sat in the middle, his two guards on either side and pressed in close. It hurt his knee like all fucking hell to be cramped in between a console and a seat and two big dudes that would likely have enjoyed ripping his arms from his body. It hurt everything to be folded into the car like that. 

One of them was rustling around for a long moment, and then there was some liquid-y noise Rossi couldn’t identify. And then the other bunched one hand on the rope around his neck and the other holding his hands down in his lap, and Rossi knew what it was. 

There was no point in fighting back, they’d do whatever they wanted anyway. And the hand ready to choke him at a moment’s whim was certainly good incentive, too. 

So he just sat and allowed them to insect the needle into his arm, grimly resigned to the fact. 

It disgusted him probably more than it should that they didn’t use any antibacterial on his arm beforehand though. 

It was several minutes before anything started to take effect, and no one moved. Rossi was about to wonder if they’d just injected the flu shot or something equally impactful when the wave of discomfort hit him. 

He writhed uncomfortably in his seat for a few moments until it was followed by a numbing blackness and he slipped across the divide. 

* * * * *

He was being shoved into the driver’s seat when he next woke, the air hot and obviously completely different than wherever he’d been before, so he’d indeed been moved. 

They secured his hands to the steering wheel, whisked away the hood, and shut the door. They disconnected the car battery and then just . . . . walked away. Of all the places, why the driver’s seat? He didn’t know, but damned if he wasn’t going to make the most of it. They wanted to use this car again, because they had only disconnected the battery, so he could make that a pain in the ass. 

He lifted his left foot and drove it into the dashboard as hard as he could, being mindful of his fucked knee and taking immense satisfaction in hearing buttons and plastic crunch under his unlaced boot. He was very glad in that moment they had given those back. 

Someone must have heard him, because suddenly they were running back and dragging him from the car, throwing him to the gravel roughly and yelling. 

Someone kicked him low and hard, right about at his floating ribs, and he started trying to get up, hurting and pissed, when someone else pistol-whipped him. He hit the ground hard and didn’t try again, just focused his energy on breathing through the pain concentrated just above his left ear and eyebrow, watching blood trickle down his skin into the gravel and forming tiny rivers. It, bizarrely, reminded him of the Ten Plagues, and he stretched his mind trying to remember their specific order. 

He was midway through mentally counting them when somebody grabbed him by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet, shoving him against the sun-heated body of the car. A pistol was pressed into his face and he instantly stopped any resisting he was doing, conscious or not. 

Enforcer One was the one holding the gun, and pissed would not be an accurately descriptive term. It was so much more. 

“Get. On. Your. Knees,” he hissed through clenched teeth, giving Rossi a healthy shove downward to get him started. 

Rossi barely caught himself from going down face-first and gingerly tried to maneuver his knee around so it wouldn’t be sitting on the gravel, but Enforcer One sneered and shoved it all the way down with his boot. 

Rossi gave a strangled yell before clamping his mouth shut and willing the muscles in his leg to  _ please God just relax and accept it for the love just stop screeching I know I know I know . . . .  _

Enforcer One grabbed him by the throat and bottom jaw, jerking his head upward to make eye contact with him. 

“You just made a really big mistake,” he growled. “Now I have to teach you a lesson and make an example out of you while I do it. Because,” he cut his eyes to the left, and Dave silently followed his gaze despite the hand holding him in place, “we have a few new guests who don’t know we aren’t fucking kidding.” 

And there, trussed up and standing next to a panel van, was the team. 


	4. Chapter 4

They were in some kind of junkyard warehouse, Rossi remembered. He needed to remember that, he’d need to tell the team about that later . . . . 

He frowned softly to himself. Wait. They were here. 

They were here? Why? What was going on? 

A stiff slap blew him from his reverie and knocked his head into the floor just hard enough to  _ awaken every other damn pain in his body.  _

“Hey! Leave him be! Why are you still messin’ with him?!” Morgan yelled. 

Still? Rossi again furrowed his brow, trying to break past the thick mental wall in his mind accounting for answers. 

Leader looked at Morgan like he was stupid. “Because it works, agent. And because you haven’t figured out yet that we aren’t jerking around here, boy. We’re dead serious.” 

“You mean  _ they,” _ Morgan said bitterly. At Leader’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “Your men do the work, not _ you,  _ you pompous ass.” 

Leader just chuckled and snapped his fingers. “Oh yes! You’ve just reminded me: You do not speak.” He nodded at Dave’s crumpled figure, which was still trying desperately hard to figure out what exactly was going on, and said, “And you just earned some more one-on-one time between us and Dave!” 

He held up a hand before Morgan could protest. “You wanna extend his punishment? ‘Cause that’s all you’re gonna do. So shut. Up.” 

Morgan shut up, anxiously watching Rossi as Enforcer One grabbed his tattered shirt and drug him across the room, where Enforcer 2.0 and three others stood. Hopeful was not present. 

Enforcer One grinned evilly. “You know what to do with him boys. I know he isn't your type, but I bet you’ll have some fun with him. Don’t bring him back intact.” 

And the last thing Dave heard were self-assured purrs from them and a few horrified yells from his team. 

* * * * *

Everything was a blur, nothing concrete. It was a whirlwind of pain, humiliation, and confusion, that he didn’t understand. He knew, somewhere inside, that something bad was happening. Something very unwell, sickening. But he just  _ could not  _ break through the haze to figure out what. 

He felt the worst of it when it came, sharp stabs of internal and external pain, and his knee just  _ would not _ stop shrieking. At some point he came to the vague realisation that he was crying. Horizontal on some surface. Tied hand and foot. There were people. Moving. What was . . . . 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

Rossi simultaneously tried not to throw up, pass out, freak out, or start bawling. His tears had thus far been silent and without reason for attention, and he wanted to keep it that way. Their attention was bad. 

Dear God he wished he hadn’t woken up. He didn’t want to be aware of this, have it cemented forever in his memory for the rest of his life . . . . 

Something was in front of him and he panicked slightly before realising that everything had stopped, everyone stopped, and it was a bottle of water being offered. 

He debated for only a few moments before taking it with a shaking hand. Take what you can when you can as long as you can. 

After taking a few drinks of the water, splashing more on himself than actually in his mouth because he was shaking so badly, he was relieved to see that everyone in the hallway with him was now fully clothed, the exception being him. 

The one who had handed him the water, Hopeful it looked like, ignored the fiery shame on Rossi’s face and helped him pull his jeans up and found his shirt for him. 

Someone had yanked on his bad shoulder and ripped the stitches open, and blood was starting to mobilize. That wasn’t the only place that was occurring, but Rossi was damned sure that he didn’t want to think of that right now. 

He was able to finish the bottle of water before they drug Jeffreys in to treat his shoulder and maybe his knee again. 

Jeffreys read the situation immediately and Rossi could tell he wanted to do more than check external damages. Fuck that, though. Nope. No way. 

Jeffreys read that look and just sighed in understanding. He knelt down and started probing his knee. Rossi yelped unintentionally as soon as he touched it. He knew it was inflamed and most certainly ligaments had been torn or bones broken. By the look on Jeffreys face, he knew it too. And it could only have been worsened by his recent treatment. 

Jeffreys spent very little time with the knee before shaking his head and moving up to the shoulder, simply removing old gauze and replacing it. 

“Wherever you want him to be after this is where I’ll have to treat his knee,” Jeffreys told the group of leering guards. “Seriously. I mean it. You can’t move him after I treat this for like . . . . days.” 

Both he and Rossi expected that to be met with more resistance, but Enforcer 2.0, ringleader, just shrugged. “Fine. But you better not fucking talk to the other prisoners, Jeffreys, or I start taking it out on your little girl.” His smile was extraordinarily disgusting. “And if you think what we’ve done to Davey here is bad . . . .” 

Jeffreys and Rossi both shuddered. 

Jeffreys held his hands up. “Fine, I understand.” 

Enforcer 2.0 grinned self-satisfactorily and motioned for the others to grab Rossi, who flinched deeply but nothing more. 

They were only a few feet from the room, so they didn’t have to drag him far, holding the back of his belt and shirt collar in a not-pleasant manner. 

Everyone in the room was pale and shaking. Reid had been cuffed in the corner, and had curled in on himself, rocking back and forth, not looking at Rossi or anyone else. They had all been secured to a pipe that ran across that wall a few inches off the ground. The whole warehouse they were in was full of similar rooms with random metal piping with no visible purpose. Nevertheless, handy for assholes with agendas. 

No one spoke, they had learned well enough from earlier that they daren’t risk it, but Rossi gave them a tired, uncoordinated nod to show that he was at least kind of okay. Even if he didn’t actually remember or understand a lot that was happening. 

They set him down. He began to think of them as Things One and Two, but that thought made his guts clench and a bad taste enter his mouth, so he tried not to think of it. 

Jeffreys settled down beside him, ignored the confused team, and started cutting away Rossi’s right pant-leg to actually get to the knee. 

Slowly, all of the guards except for Hopeful filed from the room. Presumably for a coffee and cigarette break. Up close they'd reeked of cheap cigarettes and Rossi had again physically wrench himself from the thought before he started to lose it. 

“Jesus,” Jeffreys muttered, inspecting the purple-black, obviously not in the right position, jacked up knee. 

He undid the few wrappings he’d put on it previously, muttering quietly to himself all the while. He smeared some cream on it and just rewrapped it before motioning for Rossi to help him remove the shirt. 

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Rossi very slowly complied. He heard several sharp gasps at the sorry state of his torso and tried not to look at his friends, tried not to look at Hopeful, who was just reminding him of not good things, tried not to cry or panic. 

Jeffreys clocked the emotions, they practically radiated from Rossi, but sternly resigned himself to not demonstrating any emotion to it. Everyone in the room could very well be dead within the hour, one never knew. 

He shook himself from his thoughts and moved to treating the couple-few taser wounds and took better care of the ripped-up shoulder. It was most certainly now infected, but it would take time before it became dangerously necrotic and septic. Time the man may very not survive due to . . . . unrelated outside factors. 

“What happened, Dave?” Hotch suddenly whispered, voice breaking in the middle. He glanced at Hopeful, who just stared on uncaringly. 

Rossi sent a similar glance over with the same result, and shifted uncomfortably for numerous reasons. 

“He wouldn’t tell them his name,” Jeffreys said in an irritated tone. “That’s pretty much it. Oh, and they already knew who he was, too.” 

The team exchanged horrified and uncomprehending looks. 

“Why?” Morgan asked, fairly quietly for him. 

“Keep your voices down,” Hopeful growled. 

“Seriously,” Jeffreys said as he replaced the final bandage and started packing his things. “These guys aren’t fucking around, and they don’t deescalate. Ever. Do what they tell you to do.” 

And he walked out of the room, being followed by frowns. 

“He has a little girl,” Rossi gasped when the door had closed. “I think they have her.” He breathed deeply and shifted, trying not to vocalize his pain but only being partially successful. 

“Dave,” Hotch said softly. He even looked like he was about to cry.  _ “What happened?”  _

Rossi grimaced. “Don’t really wanna talk ‘bout it.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks she's short but she's here, sorry it took a while, life really threw me down and started kicking the hell outta me. But now I'm back, mean as ever an' twice as ugly! Just kidding, hope you enjoy this until I have time to get something longer in :)

“Dave,” Hotch gently probed again. “What happened?” 

“You’re a profiler, Aaron, figure it out!” Rossi uncharacteristically snapped. After a moment he calmed and quietly said, “I’m sorry, that was mean. But seriously. I don’t. Want. To. Talk.” 

Hotch sighed and was about to start prying further when the heavy steel door creaked open and the gaggle of baddies tromped in, led by Leader himself, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

Leader lit up a cigarette as he observed the only-slightly battered team. Most of them had come quietly. 

Morgan had a bloody chunk out of his ear from a snapped rifle barrel, but that was about the only visible injury. Minor bumps and bruises on all of them, to be sure, but nothing major. 

Good, that was what he’d ordered. When you asked for a cheeseburger, you didn’t want a packet of kale. You wanted your damn burger, maybe with some fries. 

Leader mentally shook himself from his thoughts and stood over Rossi, staring down at him like he was a vaguely interesting insect. “Heard my men had a little fun with you,” he said with twinkling eyes. “Must be nice to get some loving attention, huh?” 

Rossi just stared at him, not intending to give in to the asshole’s game. 

Leader just shrugged. “Fine. You don’t want to play along? Fine. I’ll just start fucking around with one of your little pals then.” He walked down the line, finally stopping in front of Reid with a predatory smile. “Maybe this one.” 

Rossi growled and wheezed, “No it wasn’t nice.” 

“Aw, you’re kinda a rude guest, Dave. Oh well.” Everyone breathed a little easier when he stepped away from Reid. “Some people pay for that, y’know. Dominance.” 

Rossi’s look plainly said that he did not, would not, and never would. 

Leader sauntered back over to Rossi and stared down, seeing the new wrappings of bandages. He whistled through his teeth. “Well, ‘ppears we’ll have to find someone else anyway, you’re not in the best shape, are ya?” 

“Good enough,” Rossi growled. “Leave them be, tell me what you want.” 

Leader threw his head back and laughed. “Oh you got some balls of steel, spook. Maybe no damned brains, but guts aplenty.” He knelt down and met Rossi’s slightly wilder eyes. “I want a man found. I wanna kill’im. I want another man out of prison. I want two million in a secure foreign account. And I want a plane chartered to Siberia.” 

Rossi stared at him, blinking. “Wal, how . . . .” 

“How do you factor in?” Leader interrupted. “Because you’re going to get me all of those things. I seem to have heard of a brilliant technical analyst on your team. She can do all of those things without tipping off a single damn person, and we become persona non grata, all this shit was just to convince you that we aren’t kidding.” 


End file.
